Canticum Novum

Chapter 2: Precious Lord, Take My Hand

Precious Lord, take my hand,

Lead me on, let me stand,

I am tired, I am weak, I am worn;

Through the storm, through the night,

Lead me on to the light:

Take my hand, precious Lord,

Lead me home.

"Dinner!" Petunia called. Dudley waddled in from the living room. Vernon was right behind him. Instinctively, Petunia listened for Harry's footfalls on the stairs, but none was forthcoming. A slight frown crossed Petunia's face. She stuck her head out the back door, assuming he was roaming the neighbourhood again. "Harry! Dinner!" she called, a bit louder.

"He didn't tell you?" Vernon said, sitting down in his chair.

Petunia turned around. "Tell me what?"

A smirk crossed Vernon's face. "Figures, the ungrateful little brat. One of his miserable excuses for friends stopped by this morning to pick him up. He didn't say anything to me either...I happened to see him leaving. Good riddance, I say."

Petunia felt a little strange about all of this. She did think he would've at least said goodbye.

When my way grows drear,

Precious Lord, linger near,

When my life is almost gone,

Hear my cry, hear my call,

Hold my hand lest I fall:

Take my hand, precious Lord,

Lead me home.

Four days later, Petunia was doing dishes in the kitchen, thinking of Harry the entire time, when there was a knock on the door. Petunia set down her sponge and turned, but evidently Vernon had answered. She couldn't hear who was there, but she heard Vernon's answer and he sounded furious beyond reason. The door slammed and Vernon stormed down the hall.

"Who was it, dear?" Petunia asked him.

"Damn solicitor," Vernon growled. "If they don't bugger off I'm going to electrify the door."

Petunia suppressed a sigh and returned to her scrubbing. A minute later she heard another knock at the door, dropped the sponge, and grabbed a towel.

"I've got it," she called, wiping the suds off her hands as she headed into the front hall. Opening the door, she discovered a pale but smiling young woman with very bushy brown hair.

"Hello," the girl said. "I've--well, I'm a friend of Harry's, and I'm getting ready to head on over to the Weasleys' to visit with them. He wrote and said he had forgotten some of his things and would I be so kind as to stop by and pick them up? So I was wondering...I was wondering if I could just go upstairs and gather his things."

Petunia was about to offer her consent and show the girl upstairs when Vernon came storming up and pointed accusingly at the girl--and the tall, weary-looking man behind her.

"They're frauds, Petunia," he growled. "That's who was at the door when I opened it and they had no idea where Harry was! They're lying about all of it--don't let them in!"

The man stepped up to the porch with one hand on the girl's shoulder. "Mr. Dursley," he said in a pleasant but menacing tone, "I may be lying about picking up Harry's things, but if you and your wife do not step aside immediately I shall be forced to take drastic measures."

Petunia was already standing aside; Vernon, however, folded his arms over his chest and grunted. "I'd like to see you try."

The man's eyes flashed. Before Petunia could say or do anything, the man pulled a wand out of his pocket and barked out something she could not understand; a jet of light hit Vernon and he went down like a sack of wet cement.

Dudley waddled into the living room and stood at the foot of the stairs defiantly, his fists cocked. "You'll be sorry you did that," he snarled menacingly.

The man yelled the word again and Dudley fell this time, taking out a side table. Looking furious, the man turned on Petunia, his wand still out. He was breathing hard. In his eyes, Petunia was sure she detected a glimmer of fear.

"Wait!" The girl held up a hand and moved forward. Her light brown eyes were full of tears. "Please," she begged. "We really don't want to hurt you...we're just looking for Harry. We're so worried about him. Please, if you know where he is..."

"Harry?" Petunia said, bemused. "He went to stay with some friends."

The man raised his wand, but the girl shook her head. "No, he isn't. No one's heard from him in days."

"Days?" Petunia repeated. She knelt down, fished around in Vernon's pocket for a second, and finally pulled out a key ring. She flipped through and found a single golden key. "Follow me."

"Thank you," the girl said, following her upstairs.

The man followed as well. "I'm sorry about that," he told Petunia. "I'm just worried is all."

"I don't blame you," Petunia admitted. "I'm starting to get worried myself."

She led them to the heavily locked door at the end of the hall. Using the key, she opened the top one, then twisted the other three locks and opened the door.

When the darkness appears

And the night draws near,

And the day is past and gone,

At the river I stand,

Guide my feet, hold my hand:

Take my hand, precious Lord,

Lead me home.

The room was rather dusty. Harry's desk had exactly three things on it: a photograph album, an empty cage, and a framed photograph of a laughing Harry standing with the brown-haired girl and a red-haired boy. A fine layer of dust covered the album. The bed was rumpled, as though someone had been sleeping in it but fallen off. Harry's trunk was closed, but a corner of a silvery garment hung out of one side.

Petunia didn't see anything unusual about the room, and the man appeared not to either. He scanned the room with his eyes wide, lips slightly apart. The girl, however, gasped. "Oh, no," she said in a small, high voice.

"What's wrong?" Petunia and the man asked in the same instant.

The girl pointed a trembling finger at one corner of Harry's bed. As if in a trance, she moved forward, looking frightened. Petunia, looking closer, saw a dark stain on the post.

The girl rounded the corner of the bed--and screamed.

"Hermione! What's wrong?" the man cried, hurrying to her side. He stopped dead at what he saw. "Oh, my God."

Petunia forced herself to approach them--and gasped. The girl--Hermione, Petunia supposed--was kneeling on the floor next to a battered, broken, bleeding body. A pair of round black glasses--or what was left of them--lay on the floor near his outstretched hand. The glass was shattered, the frames twisted and bent. Petunia realised that Harry must have been lying there since Vernon claimed he had gone to stay with friends--four or five days.

"Is he--" Petunia gulped.

Hermione nodded, her face pale, tears streaming down her face. "There's a pulse--but only just--oh, God..."

The man pointed his shaking wand at the shattered glasses. "O--Occulus Repairo."

The pile of glass and metal whirled, seemed to attempt to repair itself--but several pieces were missing from the lenses, the frames had not straightened out. The glasses were beyond even magical repair.

"I still have his prescription," Petunia said shakily. "I can get him a new pair...but what happened to him?"

"It looks like he's been beat up," the man said. He sounded like he was about to cry. "Oh, Harry..." he moaned softly, dropping to his knees. He held out a trembling hand and touched Harry's bruised and bloody cheek. Determination flashed through his brown eyes. With a strength Petunia would never have attributed to him, as weak and exhausted as he looked, he scooped Harry's fragile body up in his arms and straightened up.

"Hermione," he said to the girl, "there's a folded and sealed piece of paper in my left pocket. Would you fish it out, please?"

Hermione pulled a piece of paper out and handed it to the man, who in turn held it out to Petunia. She took it hesitantly.

"Don't open it until you have real need to," he instructed Petunia. "We're going to take Harry to the hospital...I'll keep you updated on how he's doing."

Petunia nodded. "How will I know when to open it?"

"Trust me. You'll know."

The man carried Harry carefully down the stairs, manoeuvred over Dudley and Vernon, and out the door, Hermione right behind him. Petunia watched them go fearfully before shutting the door and returning to her dishes. It helped her keep calm.